


"Encouraged Intoxication"

by kam



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 07:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kam/pseuds/kam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short Johnlock written for the BBC Kink Meme Prompt:<br/>When drunk Sherlock is very tactile, playful and physically, shall we say, affectionate. Really the opposite of how he is on a day to day basis.</p>
<p>After a particularly grueling case Sherlock is unable to wind down. Cue John pouring him drinks, holding the glass to his lips and making him swallow. Repeat till Sherlock is a mess.</p>
<p>"Forced Intoxication" can be a stronger term than it needs to be, you can go with "encouraged intoxication" if you like. I really just want to see Sherlock really drunk and compliant. (But, by no means should you shy away from Dark!John or Dark!Sherlock if that catches your fancy).</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Encouraged Intoxication"

“John. John. John.”

“ _What_.”

“John.”

John sighed and rolled his eyes. Had he known just how low Sherlock’s tolerance was (and really, the man had been a bloody coke fiend, how could he _possibly_ have such a low tolerance?), he would never have suggested Sherlock have a drink in the first place. But Christ, the man had been sitting rigid in his chair for an _hour_. Alright, so the case had been… Not wonderful. But honestly, it wasn’t Sherlock’s _fault_ , and John couldn’t _think_ when he sat there and positively _vibrated_ with anger. So he’d poured Sherlock a shot of whiskey, and insisted when Sherlock refused. The second shot had gone down much more easily, and the third… Well, John hadn’t thought much of it. He’d finished his write-up while Sherlock inspected the bottle (and helped himself to another drink or two, John suspected,) and everything seemed fine. Sherlock was relaxed. Except he wasn’t relaxed, not really, he was _drunk_. And that, as John quickly realized, was a bit not good.

 

“John,”

Sherlock’s voice was deep and slow, and John could feel it in his bones as he hauled Sherlock to his feet.

“Come on, you’re going to bed.”

“Absolutely not! I’m not tired,”

Sherlock’s voice was quickly slipping into whiny territory, and John rolled his eyes again.

“John, I’m _bored_. I’m bored, John, let’s do something.”

“Like what,”

John sighed, and Sherlock _giggled_.

“I think you know,”

he sing-songed, and shoved John backwards, onto the sofa.

“Oi,”

John yelled, and Sherlock just giggled again and climbed into his lap.

“Pet my hair,”

he demanded, bringing John’s hand up to his curls.

“Sherlock, you’re drunk. Get off.”

“I intend to,”

and Christ, the things that smirk promised… John realized he had begun running his fingers through Sherlock’s curls, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

“John, you smell good,”

Sherlock leaned forward and pressed his nose into John’s neck, taking several deep breaths. John closed his eyes, doing his level best to remind himself that he was _not gay_ and Sherlock was _married to his work_ and _yes doesn’t mean yes if it’s drunk_ , but none of that was really helping, because Sherlock had suddenly started _licking_ his neck.

“You taste like tea,”

he crowed, bouncing a bit on John’s lap and _that_ wasn’t helping, either.

“I do not,”

John muttered, trying valiantly to remove his hand from Sherlock’s curls and remove himself from… Whatever this was. His hand came away and Sherlock whined, but when John tried to lift the taller man off his lap, he clung tight to John’s neck.

“John! Stop it! I’m _experimenting_ , you’re _ruining_ it!”

“You’re licking my neck.”

“I need to know what it tastes like! I need to know what _all_ of you tastes like, I need to compare your neck to your stomach and your wrists! _Data_ , John!”

 

Which is how John ended up lying on his back under Sherlock, top gone, while Sherlock licked his way from John’s neck to his navel.

“Your hair tickles,”

Sherlock announced, and licked it a few more times, for good measure. John squirmed, and Sherlock giggled, pressing his face into John’s stomach and rubbing side to side.

“You are not as soft as I expected. Musca… Muskel… _Muscular_ , that’s the one. You’re _muscular_ , John.”

“Wonderful,”

John muttered.

“John.”

“Yes?”

“John.”

“What?”

“ _John_.”

“ _What_ , Sherlock?”

“I quite fancy you. Your skin is golden. I like that.”

John threw his arm over his eyes, groaning.

“What’s wrong,”

Sherlock cooed, slinking back up to press his ridiculously _soft_ lips to John’s chin.

“You fancy me, too, I know you do.”

“I do not,”

John spluttered, deciding this had gone quite far enough.

“You do, too,”

Sherlock was suddenly serious, not the playful, giggly mess he had been.

“You do, too, everyone else can see it, of course I can. You _look_ at me, did you know?”

John tried to shove Sherlock off, but the taller man refused to be moved.

“You look at my… At my…”

And suddenly he was giggling again, giggling and happy in a way John had never seen him.

“At my _arse_ , John, you do! Not gay, pfft.”

Sherlock rolled off John himself, landing on the floor with a thump and laughing.

“John Watson, you _fancy_ me! You fancy my _arse_!”

Just as suddenly as he’d rolled to the floor, he was on his feet, stumbling across the room and grabbing the bottle of whiskey.

“You’ve poisoned me, John,”

he announced, taking a swig from the bottle.

“I’ll alert the yard. Call Lestrade at once. Tell him you’ve poisoned me.”

John got up and walked over, determined to take the bottle before Sherlock got any worse.

“It’s very bad form, John,”

Sherlock informed him, snickering and holding the bottle behind himself as John reached for it.

“You could’ve at least poisoned Mycroft first, you know. You could’ve… You could’ve put it in a _cake_ , he’d have gone to his grave a happy man. _Honestly_ , John.”

He swung his arm back around as John tried to duck around him, and took another drink. John came back to the front, reaching for the bottle, which Sherlock held just out of his reach.

“John.”

“ _What_ , Sherlock? _What_?”

“I’ll give you the bottle back.”

“Brilliant. Give it here.”

“For a price.”

“Oh, bloody hell. What do you want, Sherlock?”

“Two things.”

John scrubbed at his face, taking a deep breath. It’d be bad form to chin his best friend when he was in such a state, but it was _very_ tempting.

“Fine. What.”

“Admit you fancy me.”

“Yes, fine, I fancy you. Give me the bottle.”

“Two things, John.”

“Fuck,”

John muttered.

“What else?”

Sherlock grinned, stretching his arm out further.

“Kiss me.”

“No.”

“John!”

Sherlock stomped his foot.

“You _said_.”

“I didn’t…”

“You said ‘fine’, that means you’ll do what I say.”

“I’m not going to, Sherlock. This is ridiculous. Just give me the bottle, you’re going to be sick.”

“John,”

Sherlock dropped the whiny tone, adopting a more normal, regulated voice.

“John, I’m serious. I’m not going to laugh again. I won’t tell anyone. But I’m not giving this back until you kiss me – either that, or I’m going to have to finish it so I don’t remember this in the morning.”

“Sherlock, you’re _drunk_.”

“Precisely.”

“It’s too much, Sherlock. I _can’t_ , not like this.”

Sherlock paused, narrowing his eyes.

“Not like this, but another way?”

John sighed heavily, nodding.

“Fine. Let me put you to bed. If you still want a kiss in the morning, I’ll give you one. Fair?”

“You think I won’t still want one.”

“I _know_ you won’t still want one.”

“People know all sorts of things that aren’t true, John.”

“Just give me the bottle and go to bed.”

“Promise.”

John groaned. He was never letting Sherlock _look_ at alcohol again.

“I promise, Sherlock.”

Sherlock nodded and handed the bottle to John and turned sharply, stumbling off to his room.

“I suggest you come check on me within three to four hours, as I’ll likely experience emesis by then.”

He paused, and turned back.

“I will not ask for my kiss then.”

 

True to his word, Sherlock waited until the next morning, after cleaning his teeth and using mouthwash (to ensure no traces of vomit remained, he informed John.) The too-strong taste of artificial mint was not enough to ruin it, and John found himself strangely relieved when Sherlock hummed and tangled his fingers in John’s hair. He was still never letting Sherlock drink again.

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, drunk!Sherlock and drunk!me are the same person.


End file.
